Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/bowerylifeOOconn 


RICHARD  K.  FOX 

PROPRIETOR   OF    THE    POLICE  GAZETTE 
PUBLISHING  HOUSE 


BOWERY  LIFE 


BY    CHUCK  CONNORS 

Mayor  of  Chinatown 


ILLUSTRATED 


RICHARD  K.  FOX  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
FRANKLIN  SQUARE,  NEW  YORK  CITY 


Copyrignt,  1904 

BY 

RICHARD  K.  FOX 


INTRODUCTION 


Chuck  Connors,  popularly  known  as  the  Mayor  of 
Chinatown,  is  without  doubt,  one  of  the  best  known 
of  the  many  New  York  celebrities. 

He  was  the  original  "Chimmie  Fadden,"  a  character 
in  a  series  of  stories  and  plays  which  have  proved  a 
gold  mine  for  one  enterprising  writer  on  a  New  York 
daily.  He  is  picturesque,  and  if  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  an  American  Coster  Chuck  would  be  the  true 
type. 

He  i>  a  philosopher  as  well  as  a  story  teller.  He  has 
been  a  prize  fighter,  and  his  appearances  on  the  stage 
have  been  successful  ones.  When  he  fought,  he  fought 
well,  as  he  does  everything,  and  in  the  days  when  he 
was  in  his  prime,  and  everything  went,  he  put  away 
many  a  man  who  was  a  great  deal  bigger  than  he  was. 

He  has  learned  to  read  and  write  during  the  past  few 
years,  and  has  added  those  accomplishments  to  his 
many  others. 

''It  was  a  pipe,"  he  says,  "to  get  next  to  doin'  de  act 
wid  a  pen  an'  ink,  an'  as  fur  de  readin'  gag,  oh,  good 
night.  I  wuz  Johnny  on  de  spot  wid  dat.  But  wot  got 
me  goin'  was  telling  de  time.    On  de  level,  it  took  me 


BOWERY  LTFE. 


t'ree  months  before  I  got  next.  Wot  twisted  me  up 
wuz  the  little  hand  always  sneakin'  by  de  big  hand. 
Say,  it  was  like  a  race  between  a  thoroughbred  an'  a 
piker.    But  I'm  on  now,  all  right." 

No  tough  boy  in  Gotham  can  equal  his  mannerisms 
and  talk.  His  is  the  original  tough  dialect  untouched 
by  education. 

Chuck's  distinction  is  attributed  in  a  manner  to  his 
style  of  dress.  A  blue  flannel  shirt,  a  short  coat  with 
white  pearl  buttons,  a  white  tie  and  a  very  small  hat ; 
that  makes  the  character  you  read  about.  In  fact,  his 
dress  is  as  famous  on  the  Bowery  as  himself. 

It  is  in  his  talk  that  the  remarkable  qualities  of  the 
man  are  revealed.  Men  of  all  stations  in  life  are  held 
by  his  wit,  his  originality,  the  honest,  forcible  character 
of  his  mind,  the  uncompromising  manner  he  knows 
best.  The  life  of  the  Bowery,  "de  lane"  he  calls  it,  the 
streets  he  loves,  he  could  not  be  torn  from. 

He  is  the  supreme  interpreter  of  Bowery  slang.  "De 
real  ting,"  "Ah,  forget  it,"  "Go  in  under  the  table,"  and 
"Oh,  good  night"  are  phrases  that  Chuck  invented. 

His  popularity  with  the  Chinese  is  remarkable,  and 
his  honesty  has  never  been  questioned  for  a  moment 
by  anyone. 

He  has  many  strong  personal  and  influential  friends, 
who  keep  in  touch  with  him  through  correspondence, 
and  among  them  may  be  mentioned  Sir  Henry  Irving, 
the  actor,  Israel  Zangwill,  the  author ;  Count  Albert  De 
Sichtervelt,  of  Bulgaria ;  Sir  Thomas  Lipton,  Chauncey 
Depew,  Admiral  Von  Dietrich,  of  the  German  Navy; 


"Here's  to  me  new  graft.  I'm  one  of  dose  guys  now  wot 
gits  ink  .ill  over  his  flippers  and  looks  wise.  Say,  it's  a 
cinch,  and  I've  got  some  of  dem  blokes  wot  writes  books 
skinned  a  mile." 


P.OWERY  LIFE. 


Hall  Caine,  author  of  "The  Eternal  City,"  and  Nat 
Goodwin,  the  actor. 

He  has  escorted  them  and  hundreds  of  others  through 
the  Chinese  quarters,  with  which  he  is  more  familiar 
than  any  other  man  in  that  section  of  the  city. 

He  is  a  famous  character,  and  in  the  following  pages 
you  will  find  him  at  his  very  best.  Read  what  he  says, 
for  it  will  be  interesting,  and  you  will  find  a  lot  in  it 
that  will  give  you  something  to  think  about. 


$1,000,000  TO  SPEND 


A  man  who  was  seeing  the  sights  in  Chinatown  one 
night,  under  Chuck's  guidance,  said  to  him  as  they  stood 
in  front  of  the  altar  in  the  Joss  house: 

"What  would  you  do,  Chuck,  if  you  had  a  million 
dollars?" 

"Nuttin',  replied  Chuck,  "fer  I  wouldn't  hev  to,  see?" 


I  wuz  out  wid  a  bloke,  showin'  him  de  sites  uv  de 
Reservation,  an'  he  asks  me  wot  I'd  do  if  I  had  a  million 
bones.  It  nearly  took  me  bre'th  away  t'inkin'  uv  it,  an' 
I  ain't  got  over  it  yet.  Dat's  a  swell  bunch  uv  money 
fer  a  guy  to  hev,  an'  dat  ain't  no  mistake,  either.  Every 
time  I  t'ink  uv  it  it  makes  me  take  a  long  bre'th,  an'  if 
I  had  it — say,  cn  de  level,  Z  don't  t'ink  I'd  ever  be  able 
ter  get  me  bre'th  at  all. 

Rut  I  guess  blokes  like  Carnegie  and  Rockcrfellcr 
hez  got  more  dan  a  million — I  t'ink  dey  must  hev  two 
millions  ennyhow.  But  if  I  had  dere  cush  I  wouldn't 
be  buildin'  no  readin'  rooms,  en  libraries,  en  t'ings  like 
dat.  Nixey,  dey  ain't  no  good.  A  guy  wot's  hungry 
can't  eat  de  cover  off  a  book,  kin  he,  an'  if  he's  out  uv 
.work  how  is  a  brown-stone  front  goin'  ter  put  him 
next  ? 

Dat's  wot  I  want  ter  know. 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


An'  besides,  wot's  de  use  uv  holdin'  on  ter  de  coin. 
Ver  can't  only  spend  it  wimce,  an'  w'en  yer  die,  yer 
can't  take  it  wid  yer,  kin  yer?  Dey  ain't  invented 
doze  kind  uv  Mother  Hubbards  wid  pockets  in  'em 
yet. 

Look  et  a  rich  bloke  wot's  bin  workin'  like  a  long- 
shoreman all  his  life,  pilin'  up  de  dough.  He's  bin  so 
bizzy  gittin'  it  dat  he  ain't  had  no  time  ter  hev  fun — 
yer  know,  take  it  easy.  An'  de  more  he  gits,  de  harder 
he  hez  to  work — 'cause  he  hez  ter  watch  it  fer  fear 
sum  odder  bloke  wot  ain't  bin  so  lucky,  or  ain't  worked 
so  hard,  will  put  up  er  job  on  him  an'  trim  him — yer 
know,  rob  him.    And  dere  yer  are. 

Dere's  nuttin'  ter  it ;  furst  dey  work  fer  it,  den  dey 
watch  it,  an'  den  dey  die,  an'  den  de  surkus  begins,  fer 
everybody  hez  a  mitt  out  ter  git  er  grab  ez  soon  ez  de 
hearse  leaves  de  house.  An'  de  poor,  rich  bloke  goes 
ter  de  same  kind  uv  a  hole  in  de  ground  dat  ennybody 
else  doz,  an'  it's  a  hundred  ter  one  shot  dat  erbout  half 
uv  de  stuff  he  had  ter  leave  behind  is  goin'  ter  buy 
wine  in  de  swell  dumps  fer  a  bunch  uv  stage  Tommies. 

Are  yer  on? 

If  I  had  it  I  wouldn't  hev  ter  watch  it,  'cause  I'd  be 
blowin'  it  in  so  fast  dat  it  wouldn't  need  watchin',  an' 
cat's  no  pipe  dream. 

De  furst  t'ing  I'd  do  if  I  had  a  million  would  be  ter 
go  ter  de  Waldorf-Astoria  an'  hire  er  sweet  uv  rooms — 
yer  know,  er  bunch  uv  dem.  Den  I'd  give  er  dinner 
ter  all  de  mob,  wot  u'd  cost  er  hundred  bucks  er  plate, 
an'  after  I'd  got  dem  all  paralyzed  wid  real  wine,  I'd 


"Dere"s  sum  good  laws  in  dis  country,  but  dey  needs 
fixin",  an  dere  just  about  ez  good  ez  a  growler  w'ot's  full 
uv  hok-s — de  beer  runs  out  an'  de  froth  stays  in.  See." 


f.OWERY  LTFE. 


send  dem  home  in  autermobiles.  Den  I'd  go  ter  de 
guy  at  de  desk,  an'  tell  him  1  wuz  goin'  ter  turn  in,  an' 
I'd  say: 

"I  want  er  good,  strong  bloke  ter  cum  up  an'  call 
me  at  7  o'clock  in  de  mornin'." 

An'  den  in  de  mornin',  w'en  he'd  cum  up  an'  pound 
on  de  door,  I'd  let  him  hammer  his  nuckles  fer  erbout 
ten  minutes,  an'  den  I'd  say: 

"Git  out  o'  dere,  yer  Skibboreen  harp — I  don't  hev 
tef  git  up." 

I'd  hire  de  parks  every  Sunday,  wid  Eyetalian  bands 
ter  play  "Every  Day'll  be  Sunday  By  an'  By,"  an'  I'd 
hev  der  swellest  tallent  you'd  want  ter  sit  down  an' 
listen  ter. 

Dancin?  Sure.  All  de  workin'  fellers  could  hev 
der  steadies  an'  twist  ter  a  knockout,  an'  if  a  bundle 
got  freckles  in  her  t'roat — you  know,  got  dry,  see — I'd 

hev  coon  waiters  ter  bring  her  a  couple  uv  tubs  uv 
milk  so  she  could  drown  de  freckles  out.  De  fellers 
could  hev  everyt'ing  on  de  bill  uv  fare,  'cept  cigarettes 
—I  wouldn't  stand  fer  dem. 

I  notice  dere  ain't  no  statues  on  de  Bowery.  Well, 
dere  ought  ter  be,  an'  I'd  hev  statues  of  Carrie  Nation, 
Dowie  an'  Dr.  Parkhurst  put  up,  an'  I'd  hev  'em 
decorated  wid  crape. 

An'  I  wouldn'\t  hev  nobody  carryin'  de  banner, 
'cause  I'd  hev  free  sleepin'  cribs  on  every  block.  W'y 
should  a  bloke  wot's  poor  hev  ter  pay  fer  sleepin' 
ennyhow  ? 

Me  headqua'ters  would  be  de  Waldorf,  but  I  would 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


hev  a  telephone  station  in  Chinatown,  so  I  could  git  a 
hot  chop  sliey  w'en  1  wanted  it  quick.  Ev'ry  mornin' 
at  JO  o'clock — or  near  dcre — I'd  call  tip  me  Chat'am 
Square  agent  an'  tell  him  ter  give  cologne  ter  der  gals 
an'  segars  an'  free  lunch  ter  der  gorillas.  Ev'ry  bloke 
dat  wuz  hungry  would  have  a  feed  bag  an  w'enever  he 
wanted  it.    How  does  dat  crab  yer? 

I'd  give  out  coupons  ter  all  der  mob  ter  go  an'  get  a 
bath,  a  shave,  a  shine,  a  hair  cut,  an'  a  shampoo,  so 
dey  would  be  all  polished  up  like  a  door  knob,  waitin' 
fer  yours  truly  in  his  autermobile  wid  de  Chinky 
chaffer. 

An'  dis  gag  erbout  art  galleries.  W'y3  dat  gives  me 
stagnation  uv  me  liver  an'  I'll  pass  it  up.  Dere'd  be  no 
art  galleries  in  mine.  I'd  hev  two  or  t'ree  tons  uv 
corn  beef  an'  cabbage  an'  a  hundred  blokes  wid  pitch- 
forks ter  shovel  it  out.  If  yer  want  ter  git  to  der  gang, 
give  'em  sumthin'  ter  eat  an'  not  sumthin'  ter  look 
at — not  on  yer  tin-type.  A  bloke  w'ot's  hungry  ain't 
stuck  on  listenin'  to  a  long  talk  by  a  feller  w'ot's  just 
filled  in  wid  everyt'ing,  from  soup  ter  pie,  an'  a  ham 
sandwi'ch  is  better  to  him  dan  a  t'ree  t'ousan'  dollar 
c'romo. 

Young  Rockerfeller  hez  a  class  uv  fellers  in  a  Sun- 
day school,  an'  he  slings  a  few  t'ings  at  'cm,  but  he 
don't  stake  'em  ter  nuttin'  except  chin  music,  an'  I 
could  do  dat  meself,  an'  w'en  he  gives  'em  a  dinner  he 
makes  'em  pay  fer  dere  own  grub.  No  wonder  he's 
got  er  million  dollars — he  ought  ter  own  de  earth,  if  he 
lives  long  enuff — I  mean,   if  his   father  does,  cause 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


dere's  w'ere  de  cush .  cums  from  in  dat  family,  an'  it 
ain't  on  der  level,  either,  'cause  no  bloke  ought  ter  have 
more  dan  he  kin  earn. 

Between  you  an'  me  dere's  strong  arm  guys  in 
odder  places  dan  de  Bowery,  only  dey  work  diffrunt. 
Stow  dis  in  yer  nut,  cull,  an'  t'ink  it  over.  Dere's  sum 
good  laws  in  dis  country,  but  dey  needs  fixin',  an'  dere 
just  about  ez  good  ez  a  growler  w'ot's  full  uv  holes — de 
beer  runs  out  an'  de  froth  stays  in.  See? 

I'd  have  de  Board  uv  Health  go  round  ter  every 
joint  an'  see  dat  all  de  reg'lars  is  gittin'  de  right  stuff 
from  de  guy  behin'  de  fence.  I'd  cut  out  de  horse 
show,  'cause  de  horses  git  show  enuff.  I'd  give  de 
people  a  show  fer  a  change,  and  I  guess  by  de  time  all 
dis  would  be  done  I  wouldn't  have  enny  more  uv  me 
million,  an'  I'd  spend  me  life  in  bein'  happy,  wicf 
nuttin'  on  me  mind  ter  worry  me. 

Dat's  de  only  way. 

De  poor  bloke  is  de  best  after  all,  fer  he  kin  be  a 
king  wid  a  ten  spot,  an'  he  ain't  got  nuttin'  ter  lose. 

If  he  gits  wet  w'en  it  rains  he  knows  he'll  git  dry 
w'en  de  sun  cums  out,  an'  if  he's  tied  up  ter  a  bundle 
an'  has  kids,  dey  couldn't  look  enny  more  like  him  it 
he  had  enuff  coin  ter  make  Goold  look  like  a  piker. 


CHUCK  TRIES  HEALTH  FOOD 


Just  listen  ter  me  fer  er  minnit,  will  yer,  cos  dere's 
a  lot  on  me  mind  dat  I'm  goin'  ter  dump  right  here. 
I  ain't  got  no  kick  cumin'  ter  nobody  but  meself,  an' 
w'en  it  cums  to  er  show  down  I  kin  see  w'ere  de  Mayor 
uv  Chinatown  didn't  even  git  a  run  fer  his  money. 

Dat's  me. 

It  ain't  no  use  uv  fergit  it  dis  time,  cos  I  can't. 
Dere's  sum  t'ings  er  bloke  can't  git  out  uv  his  nut  fer 
er  long  time. 

Wun  uv  dem.  is  w'ere  a  bundle  he  is  stuck  on  gives 
him  de  merry  laugh — yer  know,  de  t'row  down,  de 
dinky-dink. 

De  odder  is  w'ere  he  gits  up  agin  a  new  graft  wot 
looks  nice  an'  easy,  but  wot  cums  ez  hard  ez  gittin'  er 
ten-case  note  out  uv  er  Chinkey  idol. 

Dere's  er  mug  in  dis  village  wot  wears  his  hair  long 
an'  is  stuck  on  his  shape.  He's  wun  uv  dem  guys 
wot's  been  gittin'  all  kinds  uv  cush  out  uv  de  fisical 
culture  graft,  an'  it  v-um  in  so  fast  dat  his  flippers  got 
sore  countin'  de  coin. 

He  ain't  satisfied  wid  gittin'  coin  dat  way,  but  he 
t'inks  he'll  cop  sum  uv  de  long  green  wid  de  grub 
racket — start  restrants,  are  yer  on? 

So  he  goes  out  an'  hires  er  few  join  s  an*  paii.ts  'e^ 


BOWER  V  IIFE. 


all  w'ite  on  de  outside,  hires  er  lot  uv  bundles  ter  wnit 
on  de  tables,  an'  bunch  uv  good  lookin'  dames  ter  be 
cashiers  an'  nail  de  cush  from  de  blokes  vv'en  dey  go 
out,  an'  den  he's  ready. 

But  he's  got  er  good  nut  on  him,  in  wun  way,  fer 
pickin'  out  dem  gals  ter  sit  on  high  stools  behin'  de 
desk  an'  give  de  mugs  er  smile  w'en  dey  pay  up. 
Dere's  a  hull  lot  uv  people  wot'll  fall  fer  dat  kind  uv 
graft,  an'  dey'll  steer  fer  er  joint  wot  hez  er  han'some 
gal  in  front  just  like  er  sailor  heads  fer  de  Bowery  ez 
soon  ez  he  gits  his  liberty  an'  six  months'  pay. 

Dat's  wot  a  cupple  uv  red  ribbons  an'  er  cupple  uv 
rows  uv  ivory  will  do  to  er  bloke,  whether  he's  er  kid 
gittin'  $3  er  week  for  carryin'  bundles,  er  a  big  mug 
down  in  Wall  street  wot  kin  put  his  feet  on  de  desk 
w'enever  he  feels  like  it. 

Well.  I  sees  wun  uv  dese  joints  an'  I  t'inks  dat  de 
next  time  I  feel  like  puttin'  er  feed  bag  on  dat  I'll  give 
it  er  try  out.  I'd  been  better  off  if  I'd  let  it  go  at  dat 
an'  stuck  ter  de  Irish  turkey — ah,  corned  beef,  ain't  yer 
on? — what  Her  Nobs  hands  out  reg'lar. 

Ennyhow,  wun  fine  day  in  I  blows  an'  cops  out  er 
seat  at  wun  uv  de  tables.  Pretty  soon  a  gal  in  er  w'ite 
apron  cums  erlong  an'  hands  me  er  bill  uv  fair. 

I  turned  it  inside  out  lookin'  fer  er  fisical  culture 
stake,  but  dere  wuzn't  enny  meat  on  it,  an'  it  wuzn't 
Friday,  neither. 

Den  I  pipes  off  sum  uv  de  blokes  wot  wuz  bizzy  feed- 
in'  dere  faces.  Hully  gee,  dey  wuz  shovelin'  in  corn 
an'  stuff  wot  looked  like  de  sawdust  wot  cums  out  uv 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


er  doll,  an'  drink  in'  milk.  On  de  level,  half  uv  'em 
looked  like  dey  wuz  croakin'  wid  de  ol'  con. 

"Ha,"  sez  I  ter  de  bundle,  "ain't  yer  got  nuttin'  ter  eat 
in  dis  joint ?" 

"Sure,"  sez  she,  "look  on  de  bill  uv  fair." 

"Dat's  fer  horses,"  sez  1.  "Gimme  sumthin'  wot  er 
bloke  like  me  kin  eat.  Ain't  yer  got  no  chop  suey,  er 
no  spuds?" 

"Nix,"  sez  she. 

Well,  wot  d'yer  t'ink  uv  dat.  A  feedin'  crib  widout 
no  spuds.  Puttin'  in  er  lunch  dere  wuz  like  fightin'  er 
coon  in  er  dark  alley  at  nite — you've  got  ter  shut  yer 
eyes  an'  take  er  chance.    So  I  sez  to  der  gal : 

"Ha,  sis,  I  got  two  bits  in  me  clothes ;  bring  me  enny 
old  t'ing. 

"Two  bits?"  she  sez.    "Wot's  dat?" 

"Ah,  er  quarter,"  sez  I,  an'  I  flashed  me  coin  so  she 
could  see  I  wuz  on  de  level.  So  she  sets  her  feet  agoin' 
an'  went  down  de  line  ter  de  back  where  dey  dig 
up  dat  funny  chuck. 

Dere  I  sat,  like  er  mug  wot  had  got  in  de  wrong  pew 
an'  wuzn't  wise  ter  wot  wuz  comin'  off  de  next  move  an' 
t'inkin'  dat  everybody  wuz  pipin'  me  off.  But  de  most 
uv  'em  wuz  too  busy  puttin'  away  de  dried  hay  an' 
mattress  stuffin'  ter  pay  much  attention  ter  yours  truly. 
While  I  wuz  waitin'  I  got  a  good  chance  ter  look  eround, 
an'  I  saw  er  cupple  uv  signs  which  said  dat  de  bloke  wot 
owned  de  joint  wouldn't  make  good  on  a  guy's  lid  or 
ulster  if  it  wuz  copped,  unless  it  wuz  locked  up  in  de 
safe,  or  sumthin'  like  dat,  an'  after  I  read  dem  I  wuz 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


glad  I  kept  mine  on,  an'  1  wuz  wishin'  I  had  er  string 
ter  it,  den  it  would  be  er  cinch. 

Well,  pretty  soon  de  bundle  dat  wuz  waitin'  on  me 
cum  back  wid  er  little  tray  wid  erbout  five  dishes  on  it, 
an'  each  dish  had  sumthin'  on  it — but  not  much. 

"W'ere's  de  knife?"  sez  L 

"Wot  d'yer  want  er  knife  fer?"  she  sez.  "Dere  ain't 
nuttin'  ter  cut." 

Dat  wuz  er  good  wun  on  me,  so  I  tipped  her  er 
wink,  grabbed  er  spoon,  an'  cut  loose. 

Good  nite ! 

De  first  jump  out  uv  de  box  I  got  er  moutTul  uv 
stuff  dat  wuz  like  oats.  I  chewed  it  until  I  wuz  near 
dead  fer  er  drink,  den  1  give  me  t'roat  er  twist — just 
like  de  strangle  hold — an'  got  it  down. 

"Say,"  sez  I,  ter  an  old  bloke  wot  sat  next  ter  me, 
"how  long  does  er  mug  live  after  he  gets  er  bale  uv  dis 
in  his  sistem,  or  does  he  live  ter  git  ez  much  ez  dat 
down  him?" 

He  handed  me  er  tuff  look — it  couldn't  hev  been 
worse  if  I  wuz  wun  uv  dem  strong-arm  guys  wot  wuz 
after  his  super — yer  know,  his  watch. 

"Ain't  yer  got  no  mouth  on  yer?"  sez  I.  "Or  do  yer 
only  use  it  fer  eatin'  hay?" 

"Sir,"  sez  he.    "Wuz  yer  addressin'  me?" 

"No,"  sez  I.  "I  wuz  only  speakin'  ter  yer.  I  wuz 
askin'  yer  about  dis  funny  grub.  I  ain't  used  ter  it. 
It's  er  new  graft  fer  me,  an'  it  kinder  hurts  me  face. 
Are  yer  on  ?" 

"It's  grate,"  he  sez.    "It  saved  me  life,  an'  I  can't 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


speak  too  much  about  it.  Six  months  ago  I  weighed 
only  103  pounds,  an  now  I  weigh  104." 

"Ez  much  ez  dat?"  sez  I.  "1  suppose  in  erbout  six 
years  more  you'll  weigh  105." 

"Sure,"  sez  he,  "an'  mtbbe  I'll  be  up  ter  106." 

"Well,  old  pal,"  sez  I,  "why  don't  yer  try  my  graft. 
I'll  put  er  feed-bag  on  yer  dat'll  make  yer  look  like  Jim 
Jeffries." 

"Ah,  indeed,"  he  sez.  "Yer  interest  me.  An'  wot 
may  dat  be?" 

"A  big  chunk  uv  co  ned  beef  an'  cabbage,  t'ree 
times  er  day,  an'  erbout  sixteen  scuttles  uv  slops  at 
Barney's." 

Say,  on  de  level,  I  t'ought  dere  wuz  gom'  tei  b<>  er 
riot,  an'  I  wuz  t'inkin'  I'd  hev  ter  fite  me  way  ter  der 
door,  w'en  de  old  t'rush  got  w'ite  around  de  gills.  I 
t'ought  he  wuz  goin'  ter  drop  dead  w'ere  he  sat,  but  he 
hopped  ter  his  pins  like  er  cricket,  an'  made  er  lam  fer 
de  frunt  door. 

I  could  hear  de  bell  ringin'  ter  de  last  round,  an'  I 
made  er  quick  finish  uv  de  stuff  on  de  plates,  collared 
de  check  an'  waltzes  up  ter  Miss  Handsome,  wid  er 
pompydor  ez  big  ez  er  sofa  piller,  sittin'  on  de  high 
stool. 

"Here's  yer  two  bits,"  sez  I,  layin'  down  me  coin 
wid  er  pain  in  me  heart,  fer  it  wuz  like  chuckin'  it 
erway. 

"T'pnks,"  sez  she,  ez  she  nailed  it  wid  her  t'umb  an' 
first  finder. 

"No  t'anks  erbout  it,"  sez  I,  "but  I  want  ter  put  yer 


BOWERY    L]  EE. 


wise  ter  sumthin'.    Do  yer  know  wot  I'm  goin'  ter  do 
now?" 
"No,"  sez  she. 

"Well,  I'm  goin'  out  ter  er  joint  w'ere  dey  has  real 
grub,  an'  git  sumthin'  proper  to  eat.  See?" 

"Is  it  ez  bad  ez  dat?"  sez  she,  wid  er  smile  dat  would 
take  de  buttons  off  yer  vest. 

"Worse,"  sez  I.    "So  long." 


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ONE  WAY  TO  TRAIN 


Some  of  dese  blokes  w'at  wants  ter  be  fiters  gives  me 
a  pane  in  me  slats,  an'  I  t'ink  dey  ought  ter  be  in  de 
surkus,  or  else  wearin'  blue  and  pink  wrappers,  wid 
lace  around  de  neck. 

If  dere's  any  fite  in  a  guy  it's  goin'  ter  cum  out  just 
like  de  measles,  or  any  old  t'ing  he  has  in  his  system. 

Look  'em  over  an'  see  w'at  you  t'ink  of  dem. 

An'  anudder  t'ing.  As  soon  as  dey  wins  a  cupple  of 
fites  an'  gits  dere  mug  in  de  papers,  dey  wants  ter  go 
on  de  stage  an'  look  pritty,  an'  be  among  de  actorines 
all  de  time. 

How  kin  a  knuckle-pusher  be  an  actor? 

Nix,  cul,  nothin'  doin'. 

He's  either  goin'  ter  be  a  good  actor  an'  a  bum  fiter, 
or  a  good  fiter  an'  a  bum  Willie  boy  w'ere  de  footlites 
grow. 

I  say,  if  yer  got  a  good  graft,  stick  to  it,  an'  don't 
try  an'  butt  in  on  sumbody  elses  puddin'. 
But  I  wuz  talkin'  about  trainin'. 

I  ain't  never  told  how  we  used  ter  train,  an'  we 
didn't  wear  no  fancy  bat'  robes  in  de  ring  in  doze  days, 
an'  we  didn't  have  no  trainin'  quarters  either,  unless 
yer  kin  call  de  back  room  of  a  mixed-ale  joint  trainin* 
quarters,  an'  w'en  we  wanted  ter  take  on  weight  we 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


got  two  beef  stews,  an'  w'en  we  wanted  ter  take  it  off 
we  had  a  t'ree-cent  Turkish  bat'. 

But  I'll  tell  you  w'at  happened  at  de  Reserwation 
last  nite. 

Here's  de  way  it  cum  off : 

"Say,  Chuck,  I  hear  you  list  to  be  a  prize-fighter," 
said  a  wise  guy  with  one  of  them  bum  wise  winks. 

A  prize-fighter?  Well,  I'll  tell  yuz  I  ust  to  be  a 
fighter,  but  I  don't  know  if  I  wuz  a  prize-fighter.  No, 
I  don't  t'ink  I  wuz  a  prize-fighter,  for  I'll  tell  you  why. 
Every  time  I  went  into  dat  graft*  yuz  call  prize-fighting 
de  best  I  got  wuz  only  for  de  odder  fellow. 

Say,  I'll  tell  yuz  something  about  de  time  when 
vours  truly  wuz  in  de  graft. 

I  ust  to  hang  out  in  a  joint  in  Chinatown.  It  wuz  a 
gin  mill,  and  de  bloke  dat  run  it,  he  ust  to  deal  in  bum 
booze  and  dat  class  of  prize-fighters.  We  ust  to  call 
him  de  manager,  see. 

Well,  dis  bloke  I'm  telling  yuz  about;  de  manager? 
Yes.  Well,  dis  bloke  ust  to  get  all  de  fights  for  de 
bunch,  see,  and  he'd  pick  out  one  of  de  bunch  and  say 
to  him : 

"Say,  how  much  do  you  weigh?" 

De  nuckle-pusher  he'd  look  at  himself  in  de  glass 
and  say: 

"Oh,  about  180." 

Den  dis  bloke,  de  manager,  he'd  trow  his  oyster  c.i 
de  nuckle-pusher  and  say : 

"You're  too  heavy.    I  want  a  mug  about  118." 

Den  he'd  go  in  de  back  room  and  he'd  weigh  up  de 


Aw.  w'ot  are  yer  talk  in*  about?  If  dere's  euny  rite  in 
bioke,  it's  got  to  Come  out.  just  like  de  measles." 


BOWERY'  LIFE. 


bunch  dat  would  be  sleepin'  on  de  chairs,  an'  he'd 
shake  de  chairs  and  wake  de  talent,  you  know,  de 
nuckle-pushers. 
Well,  he'd  say: 

''How  much  doz  any  of  yuz  mugs  weigh?" 

Well,  dey  would  all  begin  stretchin'  and  gappin', 
and  den  some  of  dem  would  say,  with  a  gap  and  an- 
other stretch  : 

"What  weight  do  you  want?" 

Den  de  manager  he'd  say: 

"I  want  a  118-pound  man." 

"Say,  Jim,"  one  of  de  bunch  asked,  "what's  de 
weight  ?" 

De  whole  bunch  jumped  to  dere  feet  with: 
"Say,  Jim,  I  kin  do  dat." 

"Well,  come  here.    Let  me  smell  your  breath." 

He'd  take  a  smell  and  say : 

"Go  and  sit  down,  you  bung-hole." 

Then  he'd  pick  me  out  and  say : 

"Ho,  Chuck,  come  here.    Kin  you  make  118?" 

"I  don't  know,  manager,"  I'd  say.  Den  he'd  take 
me  over  to  de  scales  and  make  me  get  on,  and  I'd 
shove  de  ring  up  to  135. 

"You  can  make  it  all  rite,"  he'd  say,  an'  then  he'd 
horse  me  over  to  the  Sheeney  t'ree-cent  baths  and 
leave  me  dere  fer  twelve  hours  wit'  nuttin'  to  eat  and 
nuttin'  to  drink. 

Well,  I  wuz  talkin'  to  one  of  de  blokes  dat  wuz 
bringin'  in  de  soap  an'  water  to  me  an'  in  comes  de 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


manager  hollering  murder  watch.  He  comes  taring 
over  to  me  in  cle  swet  room  an'  sez : 

"Say,  wot's  cle  matter  wit'  you?" 

"Wot's  de  matter?"  I  sez. 

De  manager  sez,  "Say,  how  is  yuz  goin'  to  get  down 

to  weight  talkin'  all  de  time?" 

Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I  sez  : 

"Manager,  I  got  to  talk  to  make  meself  believe  I'm 

alive,  fur  on  de  level  I've  been  livin'  on  suspission  for 

de  last  t'ree  weeks,  an'  now  your  feedin'  me  on  de 

extract." 

"Extract  of  what?"  asked  de  wise  guy,  showing 
his  crockery  wid  a  gas  laugh. 

"Oh,  extract  of  suspission,  of  course,"  I  sed,  an'  I 
gave  him  a  smile  dat  dazzled  his  eyes  an'  put  freckles 
on  his  neck,  an'  I  waltzed  away  to  de  tune  of  'I  don't 
care  if  you  never  come  back.' 

Trainin'?  Oh,  good  nite.  Dat  manager  could 
train  a  bloke  up  an'  down  in  a  minnit.  He  could  take 
it  off  an'  put  it  on  so  fast  dat  de  scales  would  keep 
jumpin'  around  like  a  Dago  fruit  peddler  wid  his  cart 
upset.  Dere  ain't  no  manager  like  him  no  more,  an' 
it's  a  good  t'ing  fer  de  nuckle-pushers  dere  ain't, 
'cause  de  coin  would  be  all  goin'  one  way — an'  dat  way 
would  be   de  manager's. 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  KITTY 


I  know  dis  ain't  de  rite  time  ter  hand  out  a  New 
Year's  gag,  but  dis  is  wun  I  had  in  me  nut  a  long  w'ile, 
an'  dere's  many  a  time  w'en  dere  ain't  nuttin'  doin' 
dat  I  t'inks  uv  it.  Dis  is  wun  uv  doze  stories  wot's  on 
de  level,  an'  it  don't  take  enny  fancy  writin',  because 
it  just  cums  itself,  like  enny  t'ing  else  dat's  real. 

I  wuz  standin'  on  de  corner  las'  New  Year's  eve, 
an'  de  mob  wuz  cumin'  down  in  droves,  like  a  bunch 
uv  gorillas — lafin',  singin',  hollerin'  an'  blowin'  dere 
horns.  Everybody  had  a  happy  feelin'  an'  a  glad 
smile,  an'  dcy  wuz  goin'  t'ru  de  Reservation  ez  if  dey 
wuz  doin'  a  cake  walk  wid  chow  chop  suey  an'  mush- 
rooms fer  a  prize.  Nuttin'  wuz  botherin'  dem,  an'  dey 
wuz  grabbin'  dere  bundles  an'  singin'  "W'en  Katie  an' 
I  Wuz  Comin'  T'ru  de  Rye,"  ez  if  dat  wuz  all  dey  had 
on  der  minds.  Dey  didn  t  care  nuttin'  fer  us  blokes, 
'cause  we  are  only  a  side  show  fer  such  as  dem.  An' 
me  standin'  dere  alone  widout  a  drink  in  me  sistem, 
an'  no  wun  ter  cum  along  an'  say: 

"Happy  New  Year,  Chuck." 

But,  say,  old  pal,  ain't  dat  alwuz  de  way?  Ain't  it  a 
case  uv  laff  an'  de  world  laffs  wid  ycr? 

Well,  I  takes  a  slow  walk  down  de  lane,  w'ich  wuz 
iike  a  looney  factory  wid  dat  mob  pushin'  t'ru,  an'  I 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


wuz  fcelin'  cz  if  I  didn't  have  a  frien'  in  dc  world,  w'en 
I  meets   Peg  Dillin  wid  a  can.    She  wuz  goin'  ter 
Barney's  fer  er  pint  an'  her  New  Year's  bottle.  She 
stops  me  in  front  uv  Hung  Fan  Low's  store,  an'  sez : 
"Hello,  Chuck." 

"Hello,  Peg,"  sez  I.    "Wot's  der  word?" 

"All  ter  de  bad,"  sez  she,  "all  ter  de  bad."  She  begin 
shufflin'  her  feet  on  de  sidewalk  and  changin'  de 
growler  from  one  hand  ter  de  odder.  She  acted  like 
she  had  sumtliin'  on  her  mind,  an'  wuz  afraid  ter  let 
go.  I  wuz  on  dat  dere  wuz  sumthin'  de  matter  an'  I 
begin  ter  scratch  me  nut  an'  wuz  t' nkin'  ter  meself, 
"Will  I,  or  will  I  not?"  Yer  know  how  a  bloke  feels 
w'en  he  sees  a  gal  down-hearted  like  dat — he  don't 
want  ter  touch  her  troubles.  But  dis  wuz  a  case  w'ere 
I  had  ter  dig  in  an'  find  out  who  wuz  who,  an'  wot  wuz 
wot.  So  I  gets  me  gall  tergedder  an'  puts  me  hand  on 
her  shoulder,  an'  sez: 

"Say,  Peg,  on  de  level — give  it  ter  me  straight — wot 
makes  yer  look  like  a  dead  one?  Yer  don't  want  ter  be 
like  dat  on  New  Year's  eve,  or  yer  won't  be  ripe  w'en 
de  summer  cums  agin." 

She  gives  a  kind  uv  little  shiver,  just  ez  if  she  had 
cr  kind  uv  a  chill,  an'  sez: 

"Well,  I  tell  yer  how  it  is,  Chuck.  Poor  Kitty  Mock 
Shue  is  layed  flat  on  her  back,  an'  down  an'  out  wid  de 
gallopin'  con,  an'  de  doctor  sez  she  ain't  got  much 
time  ter  fix  up  de  insoorance  papers." 

Say,  cull,  she  wuz  just  like  a  guy  wot  had  got  a 
wallop  on  de  jaw  an'  wuz  half  out.    She  went  inter 


"I  wuz  standin'  on  de  corner  las'  Now  Year's  eve,  an'  de 
mob  wuz  cumin'  down  in  droves,  like  a  hunch  uv  gorillas— 
lafin',  singin',  hollerin'  an'  hlowin'  dere  horns," 


COVVERY  LIFE. 


Barney's  an'  got  her  pint,  an'  w-'en  she  cum  out,  she 
sez : 

"Chuck,  Kitty  wants  ter  see  yer  about  sumthiu'. 
Cum  on  up  ter  de  house.  Mock  Shue  won't  mind — he 
likes  yer  ever  since  he  went  ter  dc  t'eatre  an'  saw  yer 
on  de  stage  wid  de  bunch."  An'  so  I  digs  up  wid  her 
ter  see  Kitty. 

De  room  wuzn't  no  swell  joint,  an'  it  wuzn't  no 
Waldorf  Astoria  dump,  but  it  wuz  jes'  poor  an'  plain. 
Dey  had  a  fine  place  before  de  Reformers  closed  up 
Mock's  t'ree  fan-tan  joints,  an'  w'en  times  wuz  good 
den  his  luck  would  run  up  inter  de  thousands  on  sum 
nites.  His  game  wuz  known  ter  be  de  squarest  in 
Chinatown,  an'  no  wun  wuz  ever  trimmed  by  him. 
Chinkcy  traders  and  laundrymen  from  all  over  de 
country  didn't  feel  rite  w'en  dey  cum  ter  New  York  if 
dey  didn't  have  a  rap  at  one  uv  Mock  Shue's  games. 
Dem  wuz  de  good  days,  an'  I  t'ought  uv  dem  ez  I  stood 
in  dat  little  bum  room.  Doze  wuz  de  days  w'en  Kitty 
wuz  a  belle,  an'  wore  seal-skin  saks  an'  di'monds  an' 
jewelry  by  der  ton,  an'  dere  wuz  all  kinds  uv  coin 
in  her  kick. 

Now  it  wuz  a  case  of  Mock  bein'  lucky  if  he  could 
cum  ter  light  on  der  lan'lord's  birthday — yer  know, 
pay  de  rent. 

I  looked  over  at  wun  end  uv  der  room  an'  saw  er 
bunk.  At  de  odder  end  wuz  a  stove  wot  had  seen  bel- 
ter days,  an'  dere  wuz  a  couple  uv  pots  an'  kittels  wot 
Mock  cooked  his  grub  in,  hangin'  on  nni's.  An'  nixcy 
fer  de  bed — if  a  good  healt'y  bloke  went  ter  sit  on  it  he 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


would  send  it  tcr  de  floor.  On  wun  side  wuz  a  Joss 
alter,  wid  a  picture  uv  Joss  Iiangin'  behind  it,  an'  a 
bunch  uv  Joss  sticks  burnin'  in  front,  an'  a  sweet  oil 
lamp,  an'  a  couple  uv  tea  cups  on  each  side,  full  uv 
tea,  fer  Joss  ter  drink  w'en  he  wuz  t'irsty. 

Nobody  sez  a  word.  Mock  an'  his  pal,  Chin  Wee, 
wuz  on  de  bunk,  hittin'  de  pipe ;  Lizzie  Brennan  wiu 
lcanin'  agin  de  end  uv  de  bed  an'  Big  Annie  wuz  sittin' 
on  er  soap  box  alongside.  De  room  wuz  full  uv  smoke 
like  de  Nort'  river  on  a  foggy  mornin'  from  dc  pipe  de 
Chink  wuz  hittin',  an'  it  smellcd  like  taffy  candy  a 
burnin'.  You  know,  dat's  clc  way  de  hop  smells.  De 
floor  wuz  prkty  clean  fer  a  joint  like  dat,  fer  Peg  wuz 
after  scrubbin'  it  on  account  uv  de  Chinese  doctor  bein' 
expected.    I  went  over  ter  Kitty,  an'  I  sez: 

"Happy  New  Year,  Kit." 

She  looked  at  me,  den  shut  her  eyes,  dropped  her 
head  on  wun  side  uv  de  pillow,  an'  sez: 

"It's  a  Happy  New  Year  fer  you,  Chuck,  but  it's 
t::ff  on  me."  She  tried  ter  wet  her  lips  wid  her  tongue. 
Den  she  looked  eround  an'  sez,  agin:  "Put  yer  hand 
under  me  back,  Chuck,  an'  lift  me  up." 

So  I  lifted  her  up,  an'  stuck  a  bunch  uv  pillows  be- 
hind her,  an'  she  brushed  her  hair  back  an'  looked 
crour.d  de  room. 

"".Veil,  Kate,  old  gal,  how  are  yer  feelin'?"  sez  I, 
'c.iuse  I  hid  ter  say  sumthin' — I  couldn't  be  standin' 
v!cre  like  a  dead  wun. 

"Net  very  good,  Chuck,"  she  sez.  "Mock  brought 
np  dc  Chinee  doctor  an'  he  give  me  sumthin' — it's  med:- 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


cine — it's  dere  in  de  stone  jug,  an:  it's  got  me  head 
a-reelin'.  I  t'ink  dere  must  be  sumthm'  in  it  dat  makes 
me  feel  rocky." 

I  see  she  wuz  gettin'  kind  uv  nutty — yer  know  dat 
Chinky  med'cin'  is  funny  stuff — so  I  tol'  Peg  ter  turn 
out  der  beer  an'  give  Kitty  a  glass  ter  take  der  taste  uv 
der  med'cin'  out  uv  her  t'rottle.  So  we  all  had  a  glass 
an'  I  tuk  a  glass  over  ter  Mock  an'  asked  him  ter  drink 
fer  Happy  New  Year,  but  he  sez : 

"No,  Chuck,  I  no  dlinkee  now ;  too  muchee  solly ; 
you  sabe.    Kitty  too  muchee  bimeby  die." 

"Not  on  yer  life,  Mock,''  sez  I.  "Kitty  ain't  goin'  ter 
die.  She's  all  ter  de  good.  She  looks  like  er  boiler- 
maker  goin'  ter  work." 

"Me  no  t'ink  so,  Chuck,"  he  sez.  "She  too  muchee 
dlink,  an'  too  muchee  smoke  opium.  Now  she  makee 
die." 

"Ah  ferget  it,"  sez  I,  "she'll  be  all  rite.  See.  she's 
lafrin';  don't  yer  see  her?" 

De  odder  monk  didn't  screw  his  nut  wunce  w'ile 
we  wuz  chinnin' ;  he  kep'  rite  on  cookin'  de  opium  pill 
over  de  sweet  oil  iamp  fer  anudder  smoke,  fer  he 
didn't  care  if  de  w'ole  worl'  wuz  on  de  bum,  an'  he  wuz 
de  Commiss'oner  uv  Char'ties  an'  got  his  graft.  He 
lost  sight  uv  us  in  de  last  pill  he  smoked,  an'  his  lamps 
went  out  on  him.  Den  Mock  went  up  again  de  pipe 
himself  an'  went  over  to  de  foot  uv  de  bed.  De  two 
bundles  went  out.  an'  I  wuz  sittin'  dere  like  a  tombstone, 
fiddlin'  wid  me  fingers,  an'  t'inkin'  w'ot  a  grate  time  de 
mob  wuz  havin'.    Mock's  pal  wenf  out  lookin'  as  if 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


he'd  played  de  dead  man's  gig  wid  forty  cents  in  stage 
money,  an'  in  anudder  minnit  Mock  was  stretched  out 
snorin'  like  a  steam  engin'.  I  got  kind  uv  dopey  meself, 
sittin'  dere  wid  nobody  ter  chin  ter,  an'  I  played 
off  inter  a  snooze.  I  don't  know  how  long  I  wuz 
asleep,  but  de  fi'st  t'ing  I  knows,  I  woke  up  wid  Kitty 
shakin'  me.  I  t'ought  she  had  a  fit  de  way  she  wuz 
glarin'  aroun'  de  room. 

"Listen,  Chuck,  listen,"  an'  she  grabbed  me  by  dcr 
shoul'ers  wid  a  grip  like  Jeffries. 

Dere  wuz  a  mob  goin'  past  in  de  street  singin'  dat 
ol'  song,  "I  Dream't  Me  Dear  01'  Mudder  wuz  er 
Queen." 

"Do  yer  hear  dat,  Chuck,"  sez  she,  an'  I  couldn't 
sa-  nuttin'.  Den  she  broke  out  cryin'  an'  falls  back  on 
her  piller.  Say,  on  de  level,  she  made  me  feel  kin'  uv 
spongy  meself. 

"Cheese  it,  Kit,"  sez  I.  "Don't  do  dat;  ferget  it;  dis 
is  New  Year's  Eve." 

"I  wish  I  could  be  dat  way  again,  out  on  de  street 
wid  de  mob,  havin'  a  good  time,"  she  sez,  "but  I  know 
I'm  all  in.  I've  had  mine,  I  guess,  an'  de  finish  is  al- 
mos'  here,  but  listen  Chuck, '  she  sez. 

Den  she  reached  aroun'  under  de  mattress  an' 
pulled  out  a  little  package,  an'  she  begins  pullin'  off  de 
papers,  one  sheet  after  anudder,  all  de  time  cryin'  as  if 
she  wuz  never  goin'  ter  stop,  an'  w'en  de  las'  piece  uv 
paper  cum  off  she  flashed  er  gold  ring.  She  looked  at 
it  fer  a  minnit  an'  den  she  sez  as  she  held  it  up: 

"Chuck,  do  yer  see  dis?    It's  me  weddin'  ring,  an' 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


dat's  why  I  keep  it  so  dear.  But  it's  turned  agin  me 
like  all  de  worl'  has,  an'  dat's  w'y  I  tol'  Peg  Dillon 
tcr  tell  yer  ter  cum  up.  De  rent  is  due  tomorrer, 
Chuck,  an'  we  ain't  got  a  nickel,  an'  we  can't  make 
a  touch  from  no  one.  Yer  know  w'en  yer  down  yer 
ain't  got  no  friends." 

On  de  level,  I  could  feel  a  wrinkle  cum  in  me 
heart. 

"It's  de  same  oF  sayin',  Chuck,  w'en  yer  got  it 
ev'rvbody  will  stick  ter  yer.  I've  hocked  ev'ryt'ing 
dat  would  bring  in  a  dollar,  an'  dis  is  de  las'  t'ing  I've 
got.  I  kept  it  tcr  look  at  an'  ter  make  me  t'ink 
tiv  long  ago.  Take  it,  yer  know  what  ter  do 
wid  it." 

Say,  I  don't  of'en  get  dripple,  but  I  wuz  near  it  dat 
time.  Yer  know  dere's  some  t'ings  wot'  gits  ter  a 
feller,  no  matter  w'ot  kind  uv  clothes  he  wears.  I 
wouldn't  stan'  fer  her  lcttin'  her  last  piece  uv  junk 
go. 

"Soak  it  away  agin,  Kitty,"  sez  I,  "an'  I'll  go  out  an' 
give  de  road  a  dash,  an'  if  I  kin  dig  up  enny  uv  dem 
swell  cream  cakes  from  uptown,  w'ot's  down  here  ter 
see  dc  sights,  yer  kin  bet  yer  sweet  life  dey  won't  get 
away  dis  time  from  yours  truly,  an'  de  lan'lord  will  git 
his  coin. 

Dcre  ain't  no  finish  ter  dis,  but  Kitty  didn't  croak 
after  all. 

P.  S. — De  lan'lord  got  his  rent  all  rite,  an'  derc 
wuzn't  no  kick  cumin'   from  him. 


CHUCK  AND  SLATS  IN  SOCIETY 


I  wuz  uptown  wunce  vv'en  I  had  dc  time  uv  me 
life.  Dere's  a  good  many  uv  de  mob  around  de  Reser- 
vation wot  ain't  never  been  uptown.  Dey  never  trav- 
elled an'  don't  know  nuttin'.  Yer  kin  read  t'ings  out 
uv  books  an'  papers  but  you've  got  ter  see  'em  if  yer 
want  ter  git  next  rite. 

Dat's  de  only  way. 

Well,   dis   is   de   way   dis   trip  happened. 

A  bloke  wot  lives  uptown  an'  knows  all  erbout  it  an* 
who's  er  kind  uv  er  pal  uv  mine  on  account  uv  me 
knowin'  him  so  long  cum  down  wun  nite  an'  tips  me 
off  dat  he  wants  ter  take  me  an'  me  gal  up  to  er  swell 
dump  w'ere  dere's  er  racket.  I  wuz  afraid  dat  I  would 
have  ter  dig  up  wun  uv  dose  funny  suits  uv  clothes 
wid  er  white  shirt,  but  he  said  nixey,  dat  it  wuz  all  rite 
ter  go  just  as  I  wuz.  So  I  hussies  around  and  digs  up 
Slats — me  bundle,  yer  know — an'  off  we  start. 

"Cum  on,"  sez  de  swell  bloke,  "let's  take  er  car." 

"No,"  sez  I,  "let's  do  de  Dan  O'Leary — walk,  yer 
know — an'  blow  in  de  car  far  fer  er  cupple  uv  mugs 
uv  ale." 

It  wuz  like  goin'  ter  China  fer  Slats,  fer  she  always 
stuck  to  de  block,  an'  by  de  time  we  got  ter  Fourteenth 
street  she  wuz  hangin'  on  ter  me  right  wing  like  cr 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


I  give  her  a  waist  hold  wot  almost  took  her  off  her 
pins.  "Dis  guy  hez  got  us  uptown  here  an'  if  yer  ain't 
careful  he'll  switch  an'  drop  us  in  an  ice  wagon  an' 
give  us  cr  freeze  out.  So  keep  dat  kisser  uv  yours  barri- 
caded an'  consider  yerself  stuffed  'til  yer  git  back." 

Just  den  de  bloke  we  wuz  wid  handed  me  er  segar 
dat  wuz  er  beaut.  It  must  hev  cost  ten  cents,  enny- 
hovv. 

Den  Slats  opened  up  ag'in. 

"Say,  Willie,"  she  sez,  "yer  ain't  got  er  cigaret,  hev 
yer?" 

"Sure,"  sez  he,  an'  he  hands  her  er  box  uv  'em. 

Well,  she  copped  de  whole  bunch  an  handed  him  back 
de  empty  box. 

De  bloke  looked  at  me  an'  I  looked  at  Siats  an' 
she  looked  at  de  cigaret's.  Wot  do  yer  t'ink  uv  dat  fer 
gall? 

W'en  I  got  er  chance  I  whispered  : 

"Say,  w'ere's  de  bloke's  cigaret's?" 

"Wot  bloke's  cigaret's?"  she  sez. 

"W'y  de  bloke  wot  brought  us  up  here." 

Den  she  gives  me  de  old  gaserline  smile  and  sez: 

"Ah.  fcrgit  it." 

"I  won't  fergit  it,  an'  wot  do  yer  tink  uv  dat?"  sez  I. 
"Well,  try  an'  fergit  it,"  sez  she. 

Dat  took  all  de  asbestos  out  uv  me  fer  a  minnit,  so 
I  sez : 

"All  rite  me  old  bundle,  I'll  put  de  kibosh  on  you 
w'en  we  git  back  ter  de  Reservation." 

Ry  this  time  she  wuz  gittin'  kinder  used  ter  de  lights, 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


an'  I  could  see  she  wuz  gittin'  fresh.  So  I  t'ought  da{ 
maybe  I'd  hev  ter  hand  her  wun  just  ter  keep  her  in 
her  place,  w'en  we  pulled  up  in  frunt  uv  er  big  joint. 

"Wot  dump  is  dis?"  sez  Slats. 

"Dis  is  er  hotel,"  sez  lie. 

Wid  dat  Slats  give  me  er  nudge  wid  de  elbow  an' 
wun  uv  clem  bum  winks. 

"Whoever  heard  uv  er  hotel  ez  big  ez  dat  ?"  sez  sh  \ 
an'  she  wouldn't  stand  fer  it  fer  er  minnit. 

In  de  front  dere  wuz  cr  lot  uv  swell  bundles  wid  all 
kinds  uv  togs  on  an  quarries — yer  know  di'monds — in 
dere  ears.  I  wuz  takin'  dem  all  in  an'  Slats  wuz  pipin' 
in  der  frunt  winders  at  der  guys  wid  de  feed  bags  or, 
w'en  de  bloke  we  wuz  wid  hustled  us  erlong,  but 
she  went  back  ter  git  anudder  look  an'  de  first  t'ing 
I  knew  she  wuz  hollerin' : 

"Ha,  Chuck,  Chuck,  cum  here." 

So  I  goes  back  an'  dere  she  wuz  wid  er  laugh  on  her 
face  dat  went  from  her  ears  ter  her  eyebrows, 

"Say,"  she  sez,  "pipe  de  clothes  dis  mug  hez  got  on. 
Dat's  grate,  ain't  it?" 

"Dat's  er  bell  boy,"  sez  de  bloke. 

"Bell  boy,  nix,"  she  sez.  "Under  de  table  fer  yours. 
Wot  are  yer  tryin'  ter  do,  string  me?  Yer  might  call 
him  er  bell  boy,  but  I  don't  seen  no  bells  about  him.  I 
t'ink  he's  er  ringer." 

Well,  we  dragged  her  away  before  she  got  pinched, 
an'  den  we  landed  in  de  place  w'ere  de  racket  wuz.  We 
took  it  all  in  from  plush  ter  creem  cakes,  an'  we 
hadn't  been  dere  twenty  minnits  w'en  sum  swell  mug 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


copped  Slats  an'  took  her  away  from  me.  But  dat 
didn't  faze  me,  fer  I  went  down  to  de  fence  wid  sum 
uv  de  mob  an'  got  t'rowin'  booze  inter  me  sistem  an' 
smokin'  dem  Hennery  Clay  butts.  After  erwhile  I  sez 
to  meself : 
"I  guess  I'll  go  an'  dig  up  Slats." 

I  wuz  lookin'  fer  her  so  long  dat,  on  de  level,  I 
t'ought  I'd  get  nearsighted,  an'  w'en  I  got  er  flash  uv 
her  w'ere  do  yer  t'ink  she  wuz?  Over  in  er  corner  wid 
er  bloke  dat  had  er  lace  curtain  on  his  Mulligan — yer 
know,  whiskers  on  his  face. 

I  tares  over  to  her  an'  sez  : 

"Cum  on,  Sis,  dere's  er  bloke  over  here  wot  wants 
yer  ter  give  him  er  twist." 

"Tell  de  bloke  ter  send  over  his  card,"  she  sez. 
"Mebbe  I  don't  know  him." 

"His  wot?"  sez  I. 

"His  card,"  sez  she.  "Yer  ain't  no  boiler-maker. 
Yer  heard  wot  I  sed." 

Ain't  it  funny  de  way  tarts  will  fall  fer  er  new  graft. 
Slats  wuz  rite  in  line,  an'  wuz  actin'  just  like  doze  swell 
bundles  wot  give  er  guy  de  frozen  face  w'en  dey  don't 
like  de  way  he  combs  his  hair.  Take  it  frum  me,  cull, 
it  takes  er  woman  ter  git  next  quick.  Put  'em  enny- 
where's,  an'  yer'd  t'ink  dey'd  lived  dere  all  dere  lives. 

De  old  bloke  pulled  out  er  pair  uv  gig-lamps  an'  put 
'em  on,  an'  den  he  give  me  er  grate  sizin'  up.  Den  he 
turned  ter  Slats,  an'  sez : 

"Who's  yer  friend?" 

Well,  dat  got  me  goin',  an'  I  sez : 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


"Me  ?  Why,  I'm  Chuck  Connors,  de  Mayor  uv 
Chinatown,  an'  how  do  yer  feel  after  de  shock?" 

He  wuz  goin'  ter  say  sumthin,  but  I  cut  him  off, 
an'  I  told  Slats  she  had  ter  cum  out  on  de  floor  an'  give 
me  er  twist. 

"Not  on  yer  tut  tut,"  she  sez.    "Yer  out  uv  it." 

"Are  ye  sore  on  me  because  dis  mug  yer  wid  hez 
got  er  super  an'  is  all  dressed  up  like  er  flat  on  de  in- 
stalment plan?" 

"Shove  off  frum  me  an'  me  company,"  sez  she. 

I  give  her  er  look,  an'  bein'  strange  ter  de  place,  I 
didn't  know  wot  ter  do,  so  I  t'inks  de  safest  t'ing  is  de 
best,  an'  I  screws  me  nut  fer  de  Reservation,  leavin' 
Her  Nobs  wid  old  boy  Whiskers. 

I  hit  de  feathers  somew'ere's  about  2  o'clock,  an'  de 
next  mornin'  er  cupple  uv  de  mob  cum  up  ter  tell  me 
dat  Slats  wuz  pinched  fer  slugging  two  Chinks  an' 
stoppin'  er  trolley  car  on  de  Bowery,  an'  fer  givin'  de 
cop  er  fight  w'en  he  tried  ter  take  her  in. 

Dere  wuz  only  wun  t'ing  fer  me  ter  do,  so  I  takes 
er  walk  over  ter  de  Tombs,  an'  dere  I  seen  her  wid  er 
bunch  uv  de  talent  in  de  pen.  She  looked  kind  uv 
rockey.    I  went  over  and  sez : 

"Wot's  de  matter  wid  yer?" 

"Nuttin,"  sez  she.  "Pay  me  fine  an'  don't  leave  me 
here  wid  dis  bunch." 

"Pay  nuttin,"  sez  I.  "I  ought  ter  give  yer  a  wallop  in 
de  kisser.  I  guess  yer  fergit  last  nite,  don't  yer? 
Yer  ought  ter  git  er  good  thumpin'." 

"I  wouldn't  kick  if  I  did,"  she  sez.    "But  say,  Chuck, 


bower v  Life. 


yer  wouldn't  hev  de  heart  ter  leave  me  here,  would  yer. 
wid  dis  bunch  uv  bums?" 

Just  den  wun  uv  de  bundles  wot  wuz  sloughed  up 
dere — wid  er  peach  uv  er  black  eye  an'  er  t'ree-months 
thirst — butted  in  wid: 

"Excuse  me,  Miss,  are  yer  referin'  ter  me?  Fer 
if  yer  are,  I  want  yer  ter  understand  dat  I'm  none 
uv  yer  cheap  Chinatown  tarts,  I  ain't." 

"Mebbe  yer  ain't,"  sez  Slats,  "but  yer  kin  drink  all 
de  bum  roof  paint  dey  got  in  Chinatown,  an'  yer  needn't 
put  on  enny  lugs  in  dis  joint." 

It  made  me  feel  kid  uv  good  ter  hear  Slats  hand 
it  back  like  dat,  so  I  sez: 

"Cut  it  out,  Sis,  an'  lissen  ter  er  wise  crack.  Will 
yer  be  nice  if  I  pay  yer  fine?" 

"Will  I  ?"  she  sez.  "Just  you  put  up  de  dough, 
an'  den  watch  me  do  de  minuet  out  uv  dat  door." 

So  I  went  ter  de  bloke  behind  de  desk,  an'  sez  : 

"Say,  have  yer  got  Slat's  name  in  yer  album?" 

"Nothin'  doin',"  sez  he. 

"Well,  hev  yer  got  Kitty  McClinchy  dere?" 
"Sure,"  he  sez.    "Ten  dollars." 

So  I  digs  down  in  me  kick  an'  cums  up  wid  er  ten- 
spot. 

"De  best  uv  friends  must  pnrt,"  sez  T,  ez  I  let  go  uv 
it,  "an'  it  don't  grow  in  er  mug's  pocket  like  grass  in  de 
country.  Cum  on  Slats,"  I  hollered,  an'  we  heads  fer 
Chinatown.  Uptown  may  be  all  rite,  but  it  costs  coin 
ter  git  wid  dat  swell  push.  Are  yer  goin'  ter  be  good, 
now?" 


'Dat  nitc  we  buried  de  hatchet  in  four  cans  of  Barney's 
Best." 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


She  didn't  say  nuttin'  but  chucked  her  arms  around 
me  neck,  an'  dat  wuz  wort'  $10  enny  day. 

Dat  nite  we  buried  de  hatchet  in  four  cans  ov  Barney's 
Best. 


THE  DOINGS  OF  DUGAN  AND 
CLANCY 


I  wuz  tellin'  a  story  to  a  guy  about  Chinatown  and  I 
says  to  him : 

"Dere  wuz  t'ree  of  us  when  a  chaw  butts  in." 

"What's  a  chaw?"  says  he. 

"Say,  don't  you  know  what  a  chaw  is?  He's  a  mug 
wid  a  sponge  in  his  mout'  you  know ;  a  flannel-mout* 
bloke.  Well,  dere  wuz  t'ree  of  us  when  de  chaw  came 
in,  'n  he  bangs  his  toot'pick  on  de  bar.  Toot'pick? 
Why,  dat's  de  iron  hook  dey  use  to  handle  freight 
and  cases.    He  bangs  his  toot'pick  on  de  bar  'n  says, 

"Line  up  'n  t'row  in." 

"What's  dat?  Say,  you're  a'  undertaker."  Dat's  'n 
invitation  on  de  Reservation.  He  says,  "Line  up  'n 
t'row  in." 

So  we  line  up,  de  t'ree  of  us,  'n  says  mixed  ale.  De 
boss,  he  says  he'd  smoke  a  ham.  Aw,  say,  forget  it. 
I  t'ink  dey  could  ring  a  peter  on  a  mug  as  slow  as  you. 
Smoke  a  ham?  Why,  dat's  a  torch.  Don't  you  know 
what  a  torch  is?  Well,  up  in  de  Tenderloin  dey 
call  it  a  cigar.  Peter?  Oh,  run  away  Chawley,  some 
bloke'll  steal  you.  Peter?  Dat's  a  drink  dey  call 
Mr.  Snyder.    Say,  is  you  gettin'  rats  in  de  nut?  Didn't 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


I  tell  you  that  a  peter  is  a  Mr.  Snyder  and  a  Mr.  Snyder 
is  a  peter,  'n  dat's  on  de  dead.  Why,  it's  a  knockout, 
see.  Say,  do  ye  t'ink  ye  kin  kid  me?  You  don't  know 
dat  a  Dago's  'n  Italian,  'n  a  Monk's  a  Chink.  Say, 
your  dead  ratty.  A  Chink,  why  dat's  a  Chinee.  Well, 
as  I  wuz  tellin'  yer,  de  boss  says  he'd  smoke  a  herrin'. 
De  mug  behind  de  fence.  Aw,  say,  you  give  a  pain  in 
de  neck. 

De  mug  behind  de  fence,  dat's  de  barkeep,  he  twists 
out  four  scuttles  an'  a  torch.  Say,  on  de  level,  ye  got 
me  dead  leary.  What  did  we  tell  de  mug  behind  the 
fence  we  wanted  mixed  ale  for,  hp  ?  Well,  den  you 
ought  to  know  dat  a  scuttle  is  a  mixed  ale,  see?  De 
mug  behind  de  fence,  he  twists  out  four  an'  a  torch. 
De  chaw  he  says  : 

"What  do  yer  want?" 

De  mug  behind  de  fence  he  says: 

"Toity,  toity." 

"What,"  says  de  chaw. 

"Toity  cents,"  says  de  mug  behind  de  fence. 
De  chaw  he  counts. 

"Wan,  two,  t'ree,  four  'n  a  torch  is  foive.  Twenty- 
foive,"  he  says. 

"Toity,  ye  chaw,"  says  de  mug  behind  de  fence, 
reaching  fer  de  convincer. 

"Toity  hell,"  says  de  chaw.  "Foive  foives  is  twenty- 
foive." 

De  boss  he  says :  "I  smoke  ten  cent  torches  ye  know." 
"Phat?"  says  de  chaw.    "Tin  cints  tur  a  cigar?  De 
ye  t'ink  I'm  a  good  ting?" 


"Dere  wuz  free  uv  us  in  de  joint  w'en  a  Chaw  comes  in 
an'  says,  'Line  up,  gents,  an'  t  row  in.'  A  Chaw,  yer  know, 
Is  a  guy  wid  a  sponge  in  his  mout'." 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


De  boss,  he  says :  "Well,  I  wanted  a  good  smoke." 

"Good  smoke,"  says  de  chaw,  "good  smoke,  is  it  ye 
want?"  an'  he  dives  down  into  his  pocket  an'  brings  out 
his  poipe  an'  terbaccy  an'  hands  it  at  him. 

"Here,"  he  says,  "take  me  poipe.  Tin  cints  fur  a 
cigar." 

Well,  what  do  yer  t'ink  of  dat?  'N  he  wouldn't  put 
up  d'  toity.  What  happened  him?  Aw,  say,  forget  it. 
Dere  was  a  collar  outside  when  he  landed.  Collar?  Say, 
on  d'level,  you're  stuffed.  Collar?  Why  a  collar's  a 
cop.  Well,  dere  was  a  collar  outside  when  he  landed, 
'n  I  t'ought  he  was  goin'  t'  sneeze  him.  Say,  you  may 
be  a  dead  fly  mug  in  de  Tenderloin,  but  you're  a  peter 
here.  Sneeze  him ;  what  does  a  cop  do  when  he  nails 
a  mug,  but  sneeze  him.  But  he  didn't.  What  did  he 
do  to  him?  Say,  forget  it.  I  bet  d'  chaw  ain't  sat 
down  since.  Say,  I  thought  dey'd  need  a  rattler  to 
move  him.  Rattler.  You  gilly,  what  do  they  cart  a 
chaw  off  in  when  a  collar  gets  tru  beltin'  him,  gener- 
ally? A  rattler  is  a  patrol;  dat's  what.  Well,  I 
thought  dey'd  need  a  rattler  to  take  d'  chaw  off.  D' 
boss  he  never  turned  a  hair.  He  tells  us  to  t'row  in 
wit  him,  'n  we  t'rowed  in,  an'  he  lights  d'  herrin'  d' 
chaw  didn't  pay  for.  Say,  d'  boss  is  d'  levelest  bloke 
on  de  Reservation.  Say,  he'd  stand  at  a  bar  'n  blow  his 
brains  out  wid  yer. 

What  become  of  the  chaw?  Aw,  say,  what  become  o' 
last  winter's  snow?  But  I  know  about  a  week  after 
dis  big  harp  goes  into  a  Chinese  laundry  for  his  wash 
wid  anudder  harp  named  Clancy.    De  Chink  dat  ust' 


BOWERY  LIFE. 


own  de  laundry  sold  it  to  another  Chink,  see.  Well, 
in  goes  dis  big  harp.  His  name  was  Dugan.  He  t'rows 
down  de  ticket  for  de  laundry.  De  Chink  wuz  ironing, 
an'  sed : 

"No  goodie  tickie,  just  now,"  and  kept  on  ironing. 

'That's  that  you  say?" 

The  Chink  after  a  while  said : 

"I  talk  you,  tickie  no  goodie." 

"No  good,  eh?" 

Well  you  ought  to  see  dem  two  harps.  Dugan  looked 
at  Clancy  and  den  at  the  Chink  and  said : 

"Say,  you  funny-eyed  devil,  if  you  don't  give  me 
phat  belongs  to  me — that's  me  overalls  and  jumper — be 
the  holy  smoke,  I'll  bate  your  dirty,  yellow  puss  till 
there's  more  wrinkles  in  it  then  there's  in  a  wash- 
board, you  dirty  washie,  washie,"  and  he  makes  a  grab 
at  de  Chink.  But  de  Chink  jumped  out  of  de  way,  and 
grabbed  a  flat-iron  to  soak  him.  Then  Clancy,  de 
udder  harp,  grabbed  de  Chink  be  th'  neck  and  soaked 
him  in  de  features  wit  his  right,  and  trowed  him  down, 
and  de  two  of  dem  started  in  soakin'  him  all  over  de 
laundry,  when  another  Chink  came  out  of  de  back 
room  wit  a  club.  When  Dugan  seen  him  he  made  for 
him.  De  Chink  seen  the  size  of  Dugan,  he  dropped  de 
club,  and  grabbed  a  fist  full  of  wet  starch  out  of  a  pail 
and  soaked  Dugan  between  de  lamps  wit  it.  While 
Dugan  was  tryin'  to  get  it  out  uv  his  eyes  de  two 
Chinks  kept  on  wallopin'  him  wit  de  clubs  till  poor 
Dugan  had  to  take  it  on  a  jump  tru  de  door,  and  left 
Clancy  to  be  thrown   in   a   wash   tub  and  drowned 


BOWERY  LIFE. 

wit  a  half  dozen  pails  of  dirty  water.  Well,  say,  wiien 
Clancy  came  up  out  of  de  laundry  his  head  and  kisser 
wuz  all  covered  wit  blue,  and  he  wuz  leakin'  like  a 
bloke  dat  had  water  on  de  brain.  And  dere  wuz  Dugan 
up  de  street,  tryin'  to  get  de  starch  out  of  his  lamps  wit 
his  fingers.  When  Clancy  spied  Dugan,  he  walked 
down  to  him  and  grabbed  him  by  de  arm.  Dugan 
looked  up,  and  thinkin'  Clancy  wuz  de  Chink,  de  way 
he  wuz  covered  wit  blue,  wuz  just  goin'  to  go  at  him 
again,  when  Clancy  yelled  : 

"Hold  on  there,  Dugan,  hold  on;  it's  me,  Clancy.' 

Dugan  looked  up  at  him,  still  trying  to  get  the  starcl: 
out  of  his  lamps,  and  every  now  and  then  saying: 

"Say,  Clancy,  how  did  you  come  out?'' 

"Take  it  from  me,  them  Chinks  are  bad  blokes  tc 
monkey  wid." 


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